“I do not follow you,” she said.
“How would you like to do something worthwhile for your country and at the same time help the cause of your Armand?”
Her interest was aroused. She saw that Kemble was listening approvingly. “I would like to hear more,” she said.
“And you shall!” Sir Harry promised. “You must know that our government is not at all pleased by what is going on across the Channel.”
“I would think not.”
“It has been a ruinous time for England,” Standish went on. “We have lost the American Colonies, and, mark you, they will prosper. Kemble will be touring there one day.”
“I don’t think so,” Kemble objected. “Too far to venture!”
“Be that as it may,” Sir Harry said. “Our country is not desirous of more wars, though they will surely come. But we must do what we can to prevent them.” He paused and tapped the side of his nose significantly. “Stability!”
“Stability?” Enid echoed blankly.
“Stability in foreign relations,” he explained. “That is the thing. Our nation wants it. And with the French in an upheaval, we cannot have it. Better Bourbon and a Hapsburg on the throne!”
“That is not likely. The king and queen have been imprisoned for several months now, and if rumor is true, they will never be freed. They are doomed to the guillotine.”
“You are an intelligent lady,” Sir Harry observed. “Our agents report that is exactly what will happen. And we are powerless to interfere. We must stand by and let this atrocity continue.”
“The French are even now warring with Austria and Prussia, which support the monarchy.”
“Their combined efforts will not conquer France or save the king and queen,” Sir Harry replied. “Even if France were defeated, the royal personages would be put to death before they could be rescued.”
“Then what can be done?” she asked.
Sir Harry’s odd face brightened. “Ah! There you have the question and the answer! The genius of the English is much underrated in the field of diplomatic endeavor. But we have the gift, I swear it. And it is through diplomacy that we hope to save the situation. Aside from the king and queen, the royal family of France consisted of three children. The eldest son is now dead, with the younger lad and the girl remaining.”
“They are also in prison,” she said. “At least that is what has been reported.”
Sir Harry continued as if she had not spoken. “Only one immediate member of the family—the king’s brother, the Count of Provence—managed to escape. And he is safe outside the borders, waiting to see which way events will turn.”
“I find this most intriguing,” Enid said, “but I still don’t see how it relates to me.”
“In the very likely event of the king’s being guillotined, who is now next in succession?” Sir Harry asked her.
“The boy. The younger son.”
“You have it!” he exclaimed with excitement. He got to his feet and began to pace slowly back and forth as he talked. “The boy! Louis Charles!”
“But he is in prison,” she repeated.
The big man hovered over her, and a gloating smile showed on his face. “You think so?”
Confused, she said, “It is common knowledge!”
Sir Harry roared with laughter. He turned to Kemble and poked him with a forefinger. “You heard that? Common knowledge!”
Enid blushed. “I fail to see the humor in what I said.”
“Of course you do, woman! Of course you do!” Sir Harry exclaimed. He hovered over her again and added slowly, in a carefully spaced manner, “Because you do not know!”
“Know what?”
“Our secret!” Sir Harry roared. “The secret of the British government, which I represent here. Louis Charles is no longer a prisoner! Through the efforts of a skilled agent posing as a nun, the little prince is free!”
Kemble was enjoying the full drama of it all. He told her, “I promised you this would be worth your while. Doesn’t this recital of events thrill you?”
“It surely does,” she admitted, “and I’m happy for the boy, of course. But why am
I
being told this?”
Sir Harry was pacing again. “Do not be impatient,” he urged. “You have not heard all the story!”
“There is more?” She was astonished.
“Obviously, or I wouldn’t have taken the trouble to tell you what I already have.”
“The tale becomes even more dramatic,” Kemble warned her.
Sir Harry lowered his huge bulk into the chair opposite her and fixed his burning eyes beneath the jutting brows on her once again. “For what I’m about to tell you, more than one throat has been slit. So it follows that I trust you. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said in a taut voice, wondering if Kemble had introduced her to a madman. “Though I still see no connection between all this and myself.”
“In time, all in good time. The two secret agents of the British government who were successful in this ploy are now both dead. Killed in the line of duty, one might say, though they fell in the back alley of a great city. Now we have lost our contacts. The only thing passed on to us before they were killed was the name of the Austrian priest whom they had entrusted with the lad, who one day will be king of France and a staunch friend of the English who saved him. The name of the priest is Father Hans Braun.”
Enid stared at Sir Harry as he finished this long exposition. “You’re saying that after your agents rescued the young Louis Charles, they placed him in the hands of this priest for safety? And that shortly after that, they were both killed by the revolutionists?”
“You are correct,” the government official agreed. “They were a man and a woman whose names are not important to you, but who were two of our best agents in France. Now everything is in chaos. There are only underlings left, with no direction. The boy is out of our hands and the whole affair may collapse.”
“How did they manage to save the young prince?” she asked.
“It was a fantastic plan, worked out in every detail,” Sir Harry told her. “A farmer told them about a deaf and dumb lad who was wandering about friendless. They found the boy, fed him, and treated him well. They dyed his hair to match the blond locks of Louis Charles and then paid good British gold sovereigns to two of the prince’s jailers to turn him over to them and substitute the deaf mute.”
“What happened to the poor afflicted boy?” Enid asked.
“He’s still in prison, but being fed a princely fare,” Sir Harry said. “The warden of the prison knows the lad is not the prince, but he dares not admit it for fear of reprisals to himself. So it remains an uneasy secret. The boy can tell his captors nothing, even if they torture him. In the end they will somehow contrive for him to escape or will simply release him. In either case, he is no worse off than he was before.”
“That remains to be seen,” Enid said rather sternly.
Sir Harry shrugged. “In my particular line of work one does some things which one would rather not do. But too often there is no choice. My first allegiance is to my country, and that is good. In the course of events some are bound to suffer.”
“What have you in mind for me?” she asked quietly.
“That is a direct question,” the big man observed with delight. He turned to Kemble. “You heard her! I liked that! She was most direct. It indicates a sharp mind.”
“Please do go on,” she begged. She glanced at Kemble and saw that he was amused.
Sir Harry rasped, “You are in love with a Frenchman named Count Armand Beaufaire. He has been active in the Royalist cause, saving noblemen from the executioner’s block.”
“That is true.” She wondered why he was repeating what he had said much earlier.
With a gleam of triumph in his small, sharp eyes, the big man pressed on. “And at the moment Beaufaire is languishing as a prisoner in a jail cell. He was captured in a small town near Calais.”
“You’re sure?”
“My network rarely makes a mistake,” Sir Harry said modestly.
“So he
is
a prisoner!” she cried unhappily. This was something Sir Harry had been obliged to learn for himself, since no one in London had the correct information. Gustav had said that Armand was imprisoned near Paris.
“Do you wish to help him?” Sir Harry asked. “Help him and our own government at the same time?”
“If there is any way I can, yes, I do.”
Kemble spoke up. “Good girl! I knew you’d say that.”
“You had a friend, Lucinda, married to Duke Victor d’Orsay,” Sir Harry continued.
Enid was amazed to hear this. “You know a great deal about me.”
“They were killed in the rioting in Versailles.”
“Yes.”
“Suppose she wasn’t killed?”
“But she was!”
“How can you be sure? You weren’t there. Reports can often be wrong.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re saying that Lucinda somehow escaped the massacre and is still alive?”
“Perhaps in hiding, moving from village to village in fear of her life,” Sir Harry replied softly. “Would you try to help her?”
“Of course I would. Lucinda was my best friend!”
“Exactly,” Sir Harry said with satisfaction.
“Is she alive? Tell me!” she begged him.
“I fear she is truly dead,” Sir Harry answered. “But suppose she might be alive and in hiding? And suppose that you, as a friend of this poor English girl who had the misfortune to marry a nobleman but was always on the side of the people, decided to go to France to search for her and bring her back to England?”
“I would do so if she were alive!”
“You and your father pay a visit to France in search of this girl. But your real purpose is to find the Austrian priest and the boy. To bring Louis Charles back to England, where he will remain in seclusion until he can be crowned king of France. Does that not excite you?”
“My father could not entertain such a task. He is too old and unwell,” Enid replied.
Sir Harry chuckled. “I realize that. So I will have an actor play the part of your father.”
“An actor?” Everything Sir Harry had said began slowly to come together. She turned to see Kemble display one of his rare smiles.
“Yes,” the actor said, rising. “Sir Harry has asked me to play the role of your father.”
Enid sat there, overcome with incredulity. “But this is not a make-believe business. It has nothing to do with the stage. It is real!”
“Can’t you see me as your parent?” Kemble wanted to know, a hurt expression on his face.
“You are too young, and we certainly don’t resemble each other in appearance.”
Kemble chuckled. “I can whiten my hair and fix lines in my face that look real. As for my not looking like you, many fathers bear no resemblance to their daughters.”
Sir Harry was leaning back in his chair watching them. “What do you think?” he asked her.
“I would say you need actors for both roles. I’m not that good at make-believe.”
“I came to Kemble looking for an actress, and he assured me you would better fill the role. And after meeting you, I must agree.” Sir Harry patted his stomach as if to second his statement.
Enid was stunned by all that she had heard. She turned to Kemble. “How would you get away from Drury Lane?”
“My sister, Sarah, is chafing at the bit for a change of pace.”
“You would let her take over the company?” Enid asked in surprise.
He nodded. “At the same time I’ll spread a rumor that I’m ill and have to go away to try to regain my health. That should protect my absence.”
“I vow you will make the ideal team to temporarily replace the two I have lost,” Sir Harry declared, beaming at her. “I ask you only to serve until the boy is safe in our hands in England.”
“How long do you think that would take?” she asked.
“A matter of weeks at the most.”
“Won’t the French authorities also be looking for the prince?”
“Only if the prison warden notifies them of the exchange. And since that could mean his own head, I doubt that he will ever admit it took place.”
“They will find out sooner or later.”
“There is that risk,” the big man agreed.
Kemble interjected, “Sir Harry thinks we have less to fear from the French at the moment than from the Prussians and Austrians.”
“How do they enter into this?” she wondered.
“They wish to get the boy,” Sir Harry answered. “Whoever manages to capture him first will be in a position later on to control the destiny of France. When the revolution fails, and it is doomed to in the end, the people will want a monarch.”
“So the Prussians and the Austrians also have secret agents in the field,” Enid mused.
“That is precisely what is making me so uneasy,” Sir Harry admitted. “We are falling behind. For all I know, they may have the prince now. Of course, we must determine that. In my opinion, he is still in the care of the good Father Braun.”
“The priest is an Austrian. Why did your agents trust him?” she asked.
“He has no ties with his mother country. His family has been in France for two generations. That is why my agents put their full confidence in him.”
Kemble approached her. “What do you think?”
She stood up. “You are seriously asking me to consider this?”
He smiled. “I thought it would have a greater appeal to you than it has for me. You have an interest in defeating the republicans that goes beyond mere loyalty to the Crown. There is Armand to think of.”
Enid considered this and turned to Sir Harry. “May I make a request?”
“As many as you like,” he replied graciously.
“If I agreed to this mission and we should be successful, would you then give me all your support to find the count and win his freedom?”
“Count Beaufaire is a hero. You would have the not-inconsiderable contacts at my disposal in any attempt to save him.”
“Would you pursue his rescue with the same diligence you expect from me in an attempt to find the young prince?”
“You have my word,” Sir Harry proclaimed earnestly. “And my word is that of the British government.”
She sighed. “You offer an attractive bait. But I know the peril would be great and that the prospects of coming out of it alive are slim.”
“Think of the glory if you succeed,” the big man coaxed. “You and Kemble will have your names in the history books!”
Kemble laughed. “A bit more lasting there than on theater placards. Join with me in this, Enid. And we’ll find the prince and save Armand.”